I cashed in my hard-earned youth
On you.
I'm emotionally bankrupt,
Overdrawn on account of you.
There are insufficient funds in the vault
For future investments.
Besides, you have the combination;
So, I wait for a safe *******
With the velvet touch.

My grandchildren will read
The year had already passed,
By the time they were born,
To stop climate change.
I don't know how they will get the information.
I don't know when they will get the information.
I don't know from what or whom it will be delivered,
Or how it will be communicated.
I'm sure the news won't and shouldn't come from me;
Although it came duplicitously from me, and others;
Driving them everywhere, flying around, BBQing animals.
And all the entrapments of a twentieth century middle class life.
The grandkids will have serious questions,
Like Why?
I have loved you to death.
Will there be any to answer
When the signal arrives in 2070?

Do we really believe
That it's as simple
As a coincidence,
The words,
Spoke, wrote and vote
Rhyme?
There are bigger pictures out there
Than my phone screen.
Phone, home, alone...
Tell me that's serendipitous.
What about
Frump, Lump, Dump, Trump.
That's not chance.
That's Divine.

During dinner talk
I hear her say,
His poems are very clever.
She said it loud, and all could hear;
(she said it out of spite)
And some who heard her say it, thought,
Isn't she so nice.

Clever. Clever. Clever.
Clapped inside my head,
For earlier she reproached me
For not reaching out instead.
I should ladle bowls of soup,
Drive the elderly wherever,
Volunteer to save the planet,
Comfort those in need of such,
Or visit with the sick.

Clever.  Cleverer.  Cleverest.
So clever when she spoke;
I find it now so obvious,
She'd not read a word I wrote.

If I was a bigot,
Or xenophobic,
Or prejudiced,
Or sexist,
Or racist,
Or even Evangelical,
I would argue
The Wrath of God
Has enveloped America,
Like a plague.
But I'm not, I'm a non-believer.

It's not a macho thing.
It's not a Republican choice.
He's not worried
We won't hear his voice.
He just can't wear a mask,
It's not because of manly fears;
It's just Putin
Likes to hold
**** lickers by their ears.

I'd like to read a poem
Written by our world;
In any style, it won't matter:
A sonnet or an ode?
In rhyme or free verse?
Figurative or Found?
But, and this is critical,
The world must write it
To help heal our wounds,
Share our victories and good values,
And expose us in mixed metaphors
In all our human frailties.
It's a poem we'll all understand.
And each spot on Earth,
Every country that's birthed,
Adds a personal verse.
Allow me to read this poem
To all our nations,
With a theme to unite us
As the one and only human race.